Teach Me How to Breathe
by Addicted to the Game
Summary: Growing up reviled by his family, Harry Potter is as emotionally healthy as can be expected of someone in his shoes. Quiet, withdrawn and as expressive as a doorknob, he ventures into the chaos of friendship, love and magic. Which will heal him and which will destroy him? Veela!Good!Draco, Gray!Powerful!Harry, Manipulative!Dumbledore, Warnings listed inside.
1. Prologue

Welcome to my first Harry Potter fanfic! I've wanted to write one for a long time and I finally came up with a decent plot to go with my overactive imagination. I already have a rough outline of all the plot details and juicy plot twists and I hope that the fanfic to come will entertain you at the very least.

There are a few warnings I'd like to throw out before we begin though. This fic is rated M _for a reason. _There will be swearing, adult situations, male pregnancy, one-sided incest, and graphic violence. These will be important to the plot. If any of these bother you, please do not proceed any further. I will be posting chapter-by-chapter warnings to be cautious, so if I see any comments complaining about anything I've put warnings up for, _I will delete those comments._

It is also probable that the chapter lengths will vary, most likely veering toward "short" at about 1000-3000 words each, but I hope that the plot will make up for that shortcoming.

Anyway, I hope that you will enjoy the ride that I have planned for you!

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Disclaimer: I'm obviously not J.K. Rowling because if I was, Harry/Draco friendship, at least, would be canon. I don't own _Harry Potter_.

Warnings: Implied child abuse/neglect

I apologize in advance for any grammar/spelling errors, a few mistakes might have slipped through my editing (I don't have a beta, so thank goodness for spell check)

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Harry Potter was a beautiful child.

Thick, inky lashes framed glowing verdant eyes set in a delicate porcelain face. Thin and willowy limbs stretched from a lean torso in an almost effeminate way. Unruly black hair sat in messy chaos that added to his cherubic charm. He looked like a doll in his childish beauty and his mannerisms only enforced this resemblance. His even temperament, his immaculate posture, his well-mannered attitude, all was ingrained within him despite never having been instructed. He never fussed, never cried, and never spoke out of turn. At age ten, Harry Potter was every parent's dream.

And she hated him for it.

Petunia Dursley nee Evans, his mother's older sister, envied Lily's son as much as she had envied Lily herself. Of course _Lily's_ spawn would be as beautiful as his mother, with his slender figure and angel carved face. That his eyes were as green and vibrant as Lily's only strengthened her jealous resolve. Every time she looked at the disgustingly adorable little cretin, she could only see Lily in his appearance and his actions, and it made her want to smash his face in with a frying pan. He embodied everything she had hated and wished for as a child.

Her poor, poor Dudley, taking more after his father than his mother; he had inherited Vernon's... well, everything. Everything from his to wide girth and multiple chins to his cruelty and greed, Dudley was a carbon copy of his father in both looks and behavior. Petunia often heard the rude whisperings of her neighbors about how her perfect son resembled a pig more than a boy, and it enraged her that she could not truly defend against those nasty gossips, not when she herself acknowledged the bits of truth in the rumors spread by the sharp-tongued wretches.

If Petunia were a better person or if she didn't hate her late sister, she would praise Harry as the perfect child. She would never admit out loud how often she wished Dudley was more like Harry. From her position in the kitchen, she watched as Dudley crudely tossed bits of his fruit snack at the telly from where he was seated on the couch, screaming at the on screen characters. Harry sat in his little cupboard, quietly reading a book he had snatched from Dudley's waste bin before it could be tossed out. Such a well behaved child…

With a sigh, Petunia shook her head to clear her mind of such traitorous thoughts. Her darling Dudley wasn't some misbehaving brute; he was just being a normal little boy. Being a little boy meant that he was entitled to a few tantrums and naughty outbursts. He was still a growing child after all; he needed to enjoy his childhood to the fullest, even if it meant a few stains in the carpet or a few more servings of crisps than was healthy. Dudley was just being a normal little boy.

Harry, on the other hand, was abnormal. Not just abnormal, he was completely _freakish_. No _normal_ child should be able to sit still for so long without fussing. No _normal_ child should be able to handle getting locked in a little cupboard every day without bursting into tears. No _normal_ child should be able to be so perfectly polite and docile in the face of corporal punishment. No _normal_ child should be able to calmly pick himself up and tend to his wounds after a particularly harsh beating. Harry Potter was not normal in any sense of the word. He was so unphased by everything his family threw and spat in his direction that Petunia was starting to worry about his mental state and the safety of her family. If anyone could do any lasting damage to her family, it would be Harry Potter.

At least it would be, if he had shown any talent for magic at all.

Petunia found it odd that Harry had yet to show signs of what those freaks had called "accidental magic". She remembered Lily had first shown an affinity for witchcraft when she was five years old; she had made the neighbor's pet cat go bald after it had killed the wounded sparrow Lily was trying to take care of. As far as she knew, Harry had no magical power whatsoever; he was just a normal boy. But the fact that both his parents had both been supernatural freaks made her skeptical of his seemingly innocent countenance. There was no way the "all powerful" Lily Potter nee Evans could produce a normal, decent baby. He _had_ to be a freak. He just had to be.

But she did doubt her conviction to hate the child once in a while. Her jealousy of his mother aside, Petunia knew she had very little reason to despise him as much as she did. He kept to himself, he didn't disturb any of his relatives for anything other than the occasional request to leave his cupboard to use the loo, and he apparently lacked his parents' magical ability. Petunia thought that as long as he didn't demonstrate any obvious freakish talent, she could possibly come to tolerate labelling him as something more than the hated leech she believed him to be.

Petunia had only to wait until the end of July for the lad's eleventh birthday, when a Hogwarts acceptance letter would make or break him. If no such letter arrived for him by the end of that day, perhaps Petunia would consider him normal enough to be treated more fairly. If he did receive a letter from Hogwarts, however, any and all sympathy and secret admiration for the boy would disappear. If it turned out Harry _did_ have magical power, he could become a danger to her family. She would lock him up in that cupboard with chains and padlocks, with a cat flap on the door to feed him. If Harry turned out to be a big a freak as is mother, Petunia would personally ensure that that beautiful cherub face would never see the light of day again.

Petunia knew fear when she glimpsed at those empty green eyes, and the sadness and rage that just_ had_ to be lying hidden within them. She knew fear the first time Vernon had gathered the nerve to strike the boy after ensuring none of the freaks were checking on him. She knew that they could have been molding Harry into a hateful and vengeful psychopath with their treatment of him. Lily was raised a loved and happy child in an environment that encouraged her magical growth. But Harry was not. He was neglected and beaten, starved and hated. If Harry did possess magical power, Petunia feared for her family. She knew that they were stupid to criminally neglect a child that could potentially pose a threat in the future, but with her deep-seated hatred for her sister and her family's contagious cruelty, it seemed like the logical thing to do.

But even after the realization that their own actions could see them dead by Harry's hand, she continued to hate. She would hate until he proved harmless to her family. She would hate until her fear of magic was proven unfounded. Petunia Dursley nee Evans would hate Harry Potter until he was judged innocent of magic, regardless of his physical beauty or his immaculate manners. She would _hate_ and she would taunt and she would mock until Harry was normal.

She wanted so much to love him and praise him and take credit for his perfection, but she would not.

Not until he was normal.

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A/N: A bit of a prologue to establish the tone of the story :)


	2. Quiet

This will likely be the last time I post twice in the same day, but I finished the second chapter after I published the story because I was too excited to wait.

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Disclaimer: Despite the how badly I wish I did, I don't own _Harry Potter._

Warnings: Description of animal cruelty

I apologize in advance for any grammar/spelling errors, a few mistakes might have slipped through my editing (I don't have a beta, so thank goodness for spell check)

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Harry Potter was a quiet child.

He loved the privacy his little cupboard ensured him, and while it was quickly becoming a tight fit, it was cozy and snug and _sheltering_. The cupboard was his sanctuary in his chaotic and cruel world. Uncle Vernon couldn't hurt him in here. Dudley couldn't hurt him here. Aunt Petunia couldn't hurt him here. After that little door closed, the outside world ceased to exist and he could close his eyes and breathe and lower his guard like he couldn't anywhere else. He could study in peace, away from Dudley's mocking sneers and escape into the loving embrace of his books in total, relaxed silence.

Despite the fact that he toned down his intelligence and the quality of his work at school to appease Aunt Petunia's unjustified belief that Dudley was the smarter child, Harry was a very studious boy. He felt soothed by the cold repetitiveness of studying; math, science, literature, language, he found an escape in all of them. To his textbooks, he was just another student, not an unloved little wretch or a worthless parasite. He could be himself, without fear of humiliation or degradation. The sanctuary provided by his cupboard and his books shielded him from the constant hatred pouring in from the Dursleys'.

Harry knew exactly why the Dursleys hated him too; when he was about four years old, before he had understood that the Dursleys' hated the very air he breathed, he had had his first bout of accidental magic. Uncle Vernon was shouting about a snake in the garden and was about to embed his shovel into its brain. The snake, not even thirty centimeters long, shrank in on itself, bracing for impact. For a split second, it seemed to look up at Harry, its tiny eyes bore into his mind and a silently pleaded for help. Harry, from his seat on the back porch and cried out to stop Vernon from killing the little serpent. Harry's hand few outward and reached for the snake as if to summon it to him. Imagine his surprise when the snake actually _did_ fly toward him, the poor thing was yanked into his hand by some invisible thread and was so disoriented, it wrapped itself around his wrist to ward off the dizziness. Of course, Uncle Vernon was sputtering mad and demanded he give up the snake so he could "exterminate the little vermin". Oblivious to the real extent and reason behind Uncle Vernon's rage, Harry said nothing and curled his body around the little reptile, his eyes flashing with childish defiance.

The beating that followed was the first and worst he had ever received, and not only had he broken both his arms trying to protect himself and the snake from Vernon's heavy blows, he had had to watch Vernon pry the little serpent off his twisted little wrist and jab his big, fat thumbs into the snake's mouth and _pull_ until its little jaw could not stretch anymore. With a loud snap and the papery sound of tearing skin, the snake found itself with an agonizingly limp lower jaw that hung loosely like a well oiled door hinge. Without hesitation or pause, Vernon then twisted the snake's head clean off its body and brought its bleeding jaws to his face, forcing him to take a good, long look at the "worthless, puny thing he had used Satan's powers to save".

As he lay broken and sniveling on his cot in the cupboard, he mumbled apologies to the little snake Vernon had killed and disposed of, he wept helplessly at the injuries his uncle had refused to let him seek medical attention for, and he worried endlessly at the possibility of continued abuse at the hands of that brute. Harry wished that the pain would vanish; he wished that Uncle Vernon would somehow forget about his fruitless attempt to save the snake and that weird power he had used to do it; he wished that the snake wasn't killed so horribly because of him. But even as a four year old, he knew such things could not happen. He wished anyway. He wished and he wished and he _wished_.

The next morning, Uncle Vernon rapped sharply on his cupboard door to wake him as he did every morning. Harry's immediate response was to cringe and curl in on himself, hoping beyond hope Uncle Vernon wouldn't open the door and continue his punishment from the day before. But when Uncle Vernon just walked away from his door as he did every day, Harry cautiously peeked through the grating on his door and heaved a sigh of relief when Vernon never turned back. It was after he opened the door to leave the safety of his cupboard that he realized that his arms were completely healed. He walked apprehensively into the kitchen and saw Vernon sitting in his usual seat at the dining table, reading the morning newspaper. Upon his entrance into the room, Vernon looked up and grunted at him to start making breakfast, not even taking note that Harry had somehow miraculously healed both his broken arms. At this casual reference to the norm, Harry thought that perhaps the ordeal from the previous day was all a bad dream and none of it ever happened. Internally, he let out a happy sigh of relief.

Later that day, however, as he was being dragged out by Vernon to take out the trash, he noticed that at the bottom of the rubbish bin, there was a gruesomely detached snake head with its jaw torn clean in half. What remained of its body was being pillaged by flies and maggots on the other end of the bin. Harry froze, and Vernon, noticing his pause, opened his mouth as if to shout at his uselessness, but upon doing so, caught a peek inside the rubbish bin. With a shocked exclamation, Vernon then raged about "those stupid little arsehole children leaving dead things in my rubbish bin again" and Harry couldn't help but gape at him. _Vernon_ himself had done that, how could he forget? After all, Harry still had the vision of the poor snake's head being brutally mutilated burned into his eyeballs.

As Vernon shouted about the imagined culprits, Harry quietly apologized to the snake and dropped his trash bag into the rubbish bin, turning to follow his fuming uncle back inside the house. He numbly continued his daily routine, absently taking note of Vernon's behavior. Vernon didn't _seem_ to be acting any differently from before. Aside from his usual hurtful remarks about the pointlessness of Harry's existence, it was like the snake incident never happened. At the end of the day, when Vernon locked him back into his cupboard without any snide reference to the snake, Harry wondered what was going on. If that incident _did_ happen, Vernon would not have hesitated to torment him about it. But he _didn't_. Harry knew it happened because there was evidence in the rubbish to prove it, but there was also evidence to counter it. Yes, there was a dead snake with the garbage, but Harry also had two perfectly not-broken arms and Vernon's temper was at its usual level of terrible.

It was later on that Harry understood that his desperate wishes had, for the most part, come true. Vernon forgot about his accidental bout of (what he later realized was) magic and his injuries were healed as if nothing had happened. He had somehow erased his uncle's memory of that day and healed his broken arms.

This realization was the beginning of Harry's fascination with the supernatural. His studious habits were able to conceal the influx of fiction books he suddenly found himself reading. Not only did he begin to experiment with his powers based on what he had read in the books, he also discovered a new safe haven for him to retreat into when life with the Dursleys got difficult. Learning was still wonderful, but now he found characters who could sympathize with his plight and his power. Perhaps he could pick up a few pointers about what to use his magic for...

In the secret of his cupboard, he learned to control his gift. He learned how to fix things that broke, he learned to heal the injuries he frequently suffered, and he learned to make the Dursleys forget anything he had done with magic to eliminate any chance of discovery. But despite the constant memory cleansing, Aunt Petunia always watched him with narrowed eyes, ill-concealed suspicion glinting sharply against the ever present backdrop of disgust and irritation, as if she _knew_.

He had learned a great deal, and couldn't wait until his next birthday, when he would put all he learned into action and finally free himself of the Dursleys forever. He would be able to disappear from their lives and they would be none the wiser. _Oh, _he was _so_ excited! He would finally be free!

Until then, he would quietly bide his time and wait.

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A/N: A little bit from Harry's perspective, he's clearly more level-headed then Petunia XD

The bit about the snake was difficult to write, I'm sorry, but it had to happen. It will be referred to later points in the story.


	3. Magical

Wow, I'm really on a role with this story! This has never happened before (and please don't get used to it, I'll feel really guilty if you do)

When I type out this story, I feel like it's progressing too fast, but also not fast enough... I'm so out of practice T.T

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Disclaimer: I don't, and in all probability, never will, own _Harry Potter_.

Warnings: Other than Petunia's mad mental musings and a tiny reference to past child abuse, no warnings for this chapter.

I apologize in advance for any grammar/spelling errors, a few mistakes might have slipped through my editing (I don't have a beta, so thank goodness for spell check)

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Harry was a magical child.

It was the thirty-first of July. To an outsider, this date held no meaning; it was just another Wednesday morning and many on Privet Drive were climbing out of bed and looking forward to the weekend that still felt so far away. This was not so in number four. Petunia woke with a sense of apprehension, like something terrible was about to happen and went about her morning routine with a strange stiffness in her movements. Harry turns eleven today. This was it. Would he turn out to be normal like her or freakish like his mother? It was while she was preparing breakfast for her husband and son, both still grousing sleepily at the table, that she felt _it_;that feeling of imminent disaster. Harry had just come in with the mail and Petunia refused to believe her eyes when she saw him place all but one on the kitchen counter. He kept that one in his hand, large green eyes confused but eagerly reading over the envelope. _No, it can't be! NO! He was supposed to be normal! _

Petunia stared almost disbelievingly at the incriminating letter resting innocently in Harry's little hand. Vernon and Dudley had sneered at the idea of someone writing to "a filthy cretin like Harry" and exchanged mocking laughs, but as soon as they caught sight of her pallid face and almost panicked disposition, the disparaging comments were silenced.

With a snarl in his voice, Vernon latched on to the back of Harry's too-large jumper with his meaty fist and yanked him toward the table, "Why are you keeping the letter, _boy_? Don't you know these letters are not for you, you stupid piece of shit?"

Petunia watched with a strange sense of detachment as Harry politely bowed his head but resolutely held on to the envelope with a firm grip, "Yes, sir, these letters are all for you, but this one is addressed to me."

Sneering, Vernon snatched the letter away with a derisive snort, "Who would be writing to _you_?" His eyes narrowed at the recipient's address, written in careful calligraphy on the front of the envelope:

_Mr. H. Potter  
The Cupboard under the Stairs  
4, Privet Drive,  
Little Whinging,  
Surrey_

There was a strange feeling of finality when Vernon turned the envelope over to reveal the wax seal. His eyes flew open and Petunia felt her world crumble when Vernon's bellow of anger shook with badly concealed fear. _No one can protect us from Him now_.

"What? What's wrong, daddy?" Dudley chirped obliviously from the other end of the table, "If it really is for the freak, just toss it out with the rubbish. S'not like it'll actually be important if it's for a loser like _Harry_."

"Dudley, hush," Petunia managed. The Dursleys were already in deep trouble if the cold glint of curiosity in those green eyes was any indication. There was no point in antagonizing him further; it would only make their deaths more miserable, she was certain of it. She felt her knees quake when Harry tilted his head and peered into her soul expectantly with his toxic emerald gaze. She looked to Vernon and knew he shared her same dilemma. Harry was magic. He could hurt them all; badly, if he wanted to. Should Harry be given his letter and accept the invitation to learn _more _magic and potentially become an even bigger threat than he already was? Or should he be refused his letter and immediately risk his wrath? Petunia found both outcomes infinitely terrifying, but felt her decision leaning toward refusal, the consequences be damned. After all, Harry had shown no signs of magical talent whatsoever, so they could probably get away unscathed if he really didn't know how to use magic. They could keep it that way too by declining his acceptance. They were his guardians after all and free to make that decision.

Just as she was about to tell Vernon to toss the letter, Vernon, the short-sighted fool, decided to give Harry the envelope, fearing the immediate potential consequences of refusing to return the letter. Harry gingerly took the letter back and gave them all a close-lipped little smile and trotted off back into his little cupboard. Resisting the urge to cry and bang her head against the table, Petunia could almost _hear_ Vernon's internal justification. _"We're not prepared to protect ourselves right now. If we give him his blasted letter now, we can postpone his enraged magical outburst and get rid of him later when his guard is down."_

"Dad," Came an outraged cry of disbelief, "why'd you give the freak the letter?! No one sends _me_ any mail, so why should _he_ keep it?! I want it! Make him bring it back!"

"Quiet, Dudley!" Petunia hissed. The danger may be temporarily avoided, but Vernon's short-sightedness just guaranteed future misery for the Dursleys. Giving the boy even _more_ of a reason to dislike them would-

_Wait a second_.

Petunia's her inner panic screeched to a grinding halt.

_Was I about to let this miserable little creature walk all over me like a doormat? I am his aunt! His guardian! I am in charge of him! Vernon and I are the authoritative powers in this household, and we are not about to step aside and let that pathetic little bugger run the show. He hasn't shown any talent for magic at all these past eleven years, despite the fact that we've beaten him and abused him. He can't fight back! Why are we so scared of him? He doesn't even have a wand yet! Demanding him to relinquish that letter will be easy! He can't do anything to us now, but if he goes to that godforsaken school, he will learn to defend himself. We have to strike now and make sure that doesn't happen!_

Throwing logic and self-preservation to the wind, Petunia conveniently forgot that Harry was an intelligent child. If he _did_ have magic, he was smart enough to deduce how dangerous it was to expose his powers. He would have taken special measures to ensure his safety, making especially certain that he was never suspected for anything strange. Petunia forgot about the absolute void of trust present between Harry and the Dursleys; that coming forward and admitting to people that clearly hated him that he had magic was completely illogical and, therefore, did not belong in Harry's polite but calculating behavior. Common sense abandoned her in that instant. Her head full of rage and a misplaced sense of authority, Petunia marched toward the staircase to the beat of Dudley's cheers and Vernon's confused calls of her name.

Rapping sharply against the closed cupboard door, Petunia felt satisfaction as she yelled, "_BOY!_ YOU COME OUT HERE THIS INSTANT! THAT LETTER DOES NOT BELONG TO YOU. YOU WILL _GIVE IT BACK _RIGHT NOW IF YOU KNOW WHAT'S GOOD FOR YOU! HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN THE FEELING OF HAVING A HOT FRYING PAN PRESSED INTO YOUR SKIN? BECAUSE I CAN-"

"You can _what_, Aunt Petunia?"

Petunia stopped her screaming when the door clicked open to reveal a calm, collected Harry, an empty envelope in one hand, an unfolded letter in the other. His large empty eyes bore into hers and suddenly, common sense came rushing back from its brief, wrath induced vacation. Petunia stared into the blank verdant chasms Harry dared to call eyes and she knew fear again.

"Are you certain you want to finish that sentence, Aunt Petunia," Harry suddenly stepped forward and Petunia found herself scrambling to get away, "because it sounded a lot like a threat, and _I know_ that the Dursleys on Privet Drive would _never_ threaten a child for reading his own letter, right?" There was a faint crackling in the air, and those empty green eyes began to glow with a primal power. The air became heavy and stifling, and a cloud of dread and absolute terror descended on her. Petunia found that her knees were knocking too hard together for her legs to hold her up properly and promptly sagged to the floor. Absently, she heard a vague scream of fury from Vernon. As if in a trance, she watched sluggishly as Vernon charged forward with his fist trained on his target. Harry just stood there, unblinking, and she just _knew_ Vernon would get hurt.

Before Vernon could even get within striking distance, a brilliant blue sheet of magic was erected around Harry and the moment Vernon's fist made contact, the bones in his hands shattered. Vernon screamed in agony and stared at his ruined hand in disbelief. Petunia almost fainted then and there. She remembered how Lily had to wave a wand and say silly incantations to do anything significant with magic. The boy hadn't so much as twitched. Despite being a normal, non-magical person, Petunia recognized power and talent when she saw it. _Oh, how could we have been so wrong? Where did this power come from? Why is he so strong? How could we have not noticed he was practicing magic right under our noses?!_

"Use your words, Uncle Vernon. A gentleman like you should not have to resort to violence to make a point." That chilling, unfeeling voice had both Petunia and Vernon quaking with terror. Harry's oppressing magic bore down on them like a physical weight and both collapsed face first to the carpeted floor. Casually, like nothing out of the ordinary had happened, Harry indicated to the letter in his hand. "I was going to erase all memory of myself from your minds and run away, but after receiving _this_, I had to rethink my plan. If I ran away, I would have had to find food and shelter, which would have been very troublesome for a child in the middle of suburban England. This letter changes everything." He peered down at them, that same doll-like closed-lipped smile gracing his cherub face. He gestured to the letter again, "I assume from your hesitation in the kitchen that you know _exactly_ who it's from and what it contains." He looked straight into Vernon's eyes, his head tilted expectantly. Vernon's chins jiggled from the force of his nods. "Since you know now, there is no longer a point in keeping you in the dark about my magic. I will be attending this coming September, and I would be most grateful," he turned to look at Petunia, "if you could help me purchase my required materials."

Petunia shuddered and nodded frantically. Internally, she was fuming and ashamed. How could she fall so easily to this little boy? She was in charge! He had to listen to her! She-

A blast of power silenced even her mental raging. It seemed he could even read her mind.

A long suffering mental-sigh later, Petunia pushed away her shattered pride and submitted, for now.

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A/N: Harry gets his Hogwarts letter! And Petunia is delusional and Vernon is a moron, yay!


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